


Pulling Me Back Into The Flames

by wibblywobblyfandom



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Based on a Vance Joy song, Character Study, Fluff, M/M, Swearing, a little bit of angst, im sorry, its just a lot of angry gay nerds cuddling in bed, literally just so much fluff, sort of??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibblywobblyfandom/pseuds/wibblywobblyfandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d never been an easy waker- and maybe it would’ve been different if he’d had a good reason to wake up, but all that waking up had ever meant was that he had to get out of bed. It was particularly bad that morning, the knowledge that he had to leave his cozy little cocoon, because he wasn’t just leaving the warm furs that served as his blankets. He was leaving the safety of the arms wrapped around his middle, the soft huffs of breath just above his shoulder blades, the warm torso pressed against his back. He was leaving Bellamy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulling Me Back Into The Flames

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song georgia by vance joy (which is what the fic is based on, but with a little less angst because i'm trash)
> 
> unfortunately, i don't own the 100 or any of the characters. they belong to jason rothenberg and the cw so please dont sue me!

Murphy’s whole body protested as he was yanked unwillingly from sleep. He’d never been an easy waker- and maybe it would’ve been different if he’d had a good reason to wake up, but all that waking up had ever meant was that he had to get out of bed. It was particularly bad that morning, the knowledge that he had to leave his cozy little cocoon, because he wasn’t just leaving the warm furs that served as his blankets. He was leaving the safety of the arms wrapped around his middle, the soft huffs of breath just above his shoulder blades, the warm torso pressed against his back. He was leaving Bellamy. And all for some stupid farming job he’d been volunteered for by Abby. Couldn’t someone else take care of the fucking cabbages for one morning?

He slowly turned in Bellamy’s arms to get a glimpse of the man who made it so hard to get his skinny ass out of bed. Bellamy while he was asleep was a wonder of the world- probably the only one left, after the bombs. A selfish part of Murphy, deep in his gut, was glad that he was the only one who had the privilege of witnessing such a magnificent sight. Yes, there had been others, and a nasty voice in his subconscious reminded him there would probably be more in the future, but Murphy could take in the sight in a way nobody else would ever be able to do. If he were an artist, he would paint whole canvasses of the tiny crease between Bellamy’s closed eyes, write sonnets dedicated to the light smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks like dappled sunlight, compose symphonies to the curve of his lips and the tiny scar that lay across them from a fight he fought and lost as an angry twelve-year-old.

As his sleepily blinking eyes made their way across Bellamy’s face, Murphy took a second to marvel at how far they’d come, how much they’d grown. God, their relationship had never been easy. Right from the beginning there had been flames, a wildfire in those first days at the dropship. There had been the promise of something bigger, but the kindling had been unsteady- all passion and no substance. The wildfire had swelled into an uncontrollable inferno, had swallowed up all chance of life or love, until there was nothing left to burn and their blaze puttered out. The forest choked under the ashes left behind in a way not unlike Bellamy and Murphy had in their respective nooses, and remained so until their next meeting outside the dropship.

Murphy remembered hating himself so much as he limped out those doors and his eyes caught sight of Bellamy, alive and well. He had told himself it was because he wanted, needed, for Bellamy to be dead, and he’d failed in killing him- but now Murphy was able to admit to himself that he’d hated himself for even thinking of trying to extinguish the light in Bellamy’s eyes. Their flames were coaxed back to life as the flickering flame of a match, racing to consume its tiny stick and burn the fingertips of whoever dared to hold it. With the winding of red seatbelts around wrists, the match was thrown into a pile of newspaper and twigs and began to burn again- faint, flickering, but steady. It had been reduced to a pile of dim, warm embers in the back of their minds when Murphy left to find the City of Light, but upon his return they found no difficulty in coaxing their fire back to life. A bright campfire blossomed from the coals- not something that existed solely to burn and destroy, as their love had before, but something that gave warmth and comfort in times of strife.

As his thoughts continued to wander Murphy felt his eyelids slowly slip closed again, drawing him back to the depths of sleep. He quickly forced them open and resigned himself to the fact that yes, he would have to get out of bed. Bellamy would wake up in time and get ready for his day, too, and maybe they’d have breakfast together. At the very least, Bellamy might be able to distract him from the bitter taste of the gruel the rest of the camp was willing to accept for breakfast. Murphy slid stiffly out of bed, taking care not to disturb Bellamy too much, and walked across their small bedroom to the chest of drawers nestled in the corner. As he began to wiggle out of his pajama pants, Murphy bent down to get out his clothes for the day- but as soon as he did, he realised that he’d severely misjudged the distance between himself and the handle of their small set of drawers. The coarse material of his pants twisted around his knees, and with a panicked yell and a desperate lunge for the wall, Murphy crashed to the floor.  
He lay there for a moment, basking in his own idiocy, before a croaky “Murphy?” sounded from across the room. Untangling his legs from the cloth, Murphy stood up and busied himself with getting the rest of his clothes from the drawer.

“Murphy, you okay?” Bellamy called again, teasing, but Murphy refused to turn and face him. There was no way he was giving the asshole the satisfaction. "What are you doing?"

“Getting dressed.”

“Why?”

Bellamy's genuinely curious reply was strange enough to make Murphy glance quickly up to meet his eyes, a snarky retort on the tip of his tongue. The words fell from his mind like rain as soon as he caught sight of Bellamy in all of his just-awakened glory. The furs pooled around his hips as he propped himself up in bed, and his sleepy brown eyes blinked from behind the dark lashes that cast shadows on his golden cheekbones. Bellamy’s unruly head of dark curls had been messed up even further in sleep, and they stuck out around his head like a halo. As Murphy’s eyes fell to the curve of the Cupid’s bow above his lips, that same mouth curved into something between a smirk and an exasperated, fond smile, and Murphy realised that he was staring. Fucking Bellamy and his goddamn- his goddamn everything. Nobody should’ve been allowed to look that hot when they’d just woken up. It was really fucking rude, honestly, to be the perfect image of a Greek god when everyone else had to deal with bloodshot eyes and drool on their cheeks.

Murphy shook his head and stuttered a little, then tried to regain whatever shreds of dignity he had left and shot Bellamy a deadpan expression.

“I’m going to brunch with the Chancellor, Bellamy. What do you think? I’m getting ready for work. Actually, maybe you’ve heard of it- it’s what us normal, non-council-member folks do while you laze around in bed all day,” he sniped, well aware that Bellamy knew he was joking. There’d been several times when Bellamy had struggled to grab more than 3 hours of sleep between his duties as a guard and council member

As Murphy looked around to search for his cargo pants (the ones he’d thrown on the floor last night because he was too lazy to put them back in the drawer) he heard the creaking of the bed behind him and the soft pad of bare feet as they made their way across the floor. Strong hands turned him around to face Bellamy, and the question of just what exactly the older man was doing was thrown aside as Bellamy’s soft lips connected with his own. Murphy didn’t take long to reciprocate the kiss, feeling his whole body respond to Bellamy’s light touches on his arms, a calm, strong electricity coursing through his veins with every movement. One of his arms found its way around Bellamy’s torso as the other man’s hand reached up to cup the back of Murphy’s neck and entwine itself in his hair, gripping it and tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

A soft sigh escaped Murphy’s mouth as he wound himself tighter around Bellamy, his mind blank except for the need to be closer, to keep this one good thing going for as long as he possibly could. This was the fire Murphy had been talking about, this warm passion that overtook both of them until there was nothing left but that moment, that too-short fold in time and space where everything wasn’t shit. It was times like this that Murphy decided the whole world could burn down around him and he would be fine so long as he had Bellamy, with his steady grip and warm smile and the way he built Murphy up just as fast as he tore him down again.

Murphy gave a soft noise of protest as Bellamy broke the kiss and leant his forehead against Murphy’s own. As they both tried to regain their breath after the kiss, Bellamy began to laugh. His eyes crinkled up and the corners of his mouth stretched into a wide grin, and it felt like someone had run a battering ram into Murphy’s stomach in the best way possible.

The council gave us the day off, genius. Come back to bed." Amusement was written all over Bellamy's features, and Murphy dropped his face to the other man's shoulder with a groan. He felt a chuckle reverberate through Bellamy’s body, and it would've been annoying if it wasn't so damn nice to hear laughter coming from his boyfriend instead of a sigh, for once.

“Shut up. You could’ve told me, asshole,” he grumbled, moving to hit the side of Bellamy’s head with his own in a half-hearted display of grumpiness.

“I just did!” Came the indignant but teasing reply, and there was a small, content silence before Bellamy pulled away and crawled back into bed. Murphy stopped for a moment to watch Bellamy in all of his elegance- held in the gracefulness of his limbs, the curve of his back, the stern line of his nose- before following. He adjusted his limbs under the covers until he was facing Bellamy with their legs tangled together and foreheads touching, an echo of their earlier stance. Bellamy leaned forwards to kiss him again, and Murphy moved his hand to brush against Bellamy’s cheekbones. They stayed like that for a while, lips moving in sync, pressed together like hands in prayer, before they parted and Murphy‘s gaze was drawn upwards to the other man’s face.

The tiny flecks of gold in Bellamy’s deep brown eyes shone like beacons, and Murphy was reminded once again of just how good he was. The soldier, the fighter, the hero of the story. He didn’t understand how Bellamy could forgive him for the things he’d done. Murphy didn’t even forgive himself, couldn’t look past the darkness he was sure still resided in his soul. All he could do was pray that nobody else would see it too and cast him out like he deserved. Bellamy, on the other hand- well, the light seemed to flock to Bellamy. It illuminated every curve and angle of muscle, danced through his dark curls, brushed lovingly against the side of his neck. The sunbeams were drawn to him like bees to a flower, or birds to the sky, or ants to their tunnels when it rained. They loved him almost as much as Murphy did. Almost.

This time, when sleep beckoned, Murphy allowed himself to sink into its embrace. He awoke with his head tucked under Bellamy’s chin and his wrists squashed between them, the older man’s arms circled protectively around his back. Stretching out his back and legs a little, Murphy leaned forward to press a soft kiss against Bellamy’s collarbone, then one against his clavicle, and one to the column of his neck. The man above him stirred and rolled to let Murphy out of his embrace, allowing him to scoot up and press a last, lingering kiss to Bellamy’s lips.

“Don’t think this means I don’t still hate you,” Murphy mumbled. Bellamy just snorted and rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little.

“It’s alright. I love you anyway.”

There was silence, before the weight of those words hit them both like the dropship crashing to the forest floor. Bellamy tensed, his face frozen in panic. Neither of them had ever said that to each other before, had never discussed it, had never acknowledged just how far behind them their turbulent past really was.

“Shit, Murphy, I didn’t mean- fuck. I’m sorry, I know we didn’t- it just slipped out, yknow?" Bellamy said as he scrambled to sit up, distancing himself from Murphy. "We haven’t really said anything about that yet and I didn’t- well. Yeah. I did- I do. I love you. Fuck, Murphy, I love you. I don’t know if you can love me too, but I do. I love you."

Bellamy's panic returned suddenly, and he stuck both hands up hands palms-outward as if trying to calm a wild animal. "It’s okay if you don’t, by the way! If you don’t love me, that’s fine, I don’t blame you. Not after what I did, not after what happened to you because of me. I just- I want you to know that I love you.”

Bellamy's hesitation, his fretfulness, astounded Murphy. He couldn’t believe just how worried the other man was. Why was someone who had the respect of the whole camp- who could have everyone falling at his knees with a single word- worried about a person like Murphy? Why did he care? What crazy karma malfunction had happened here, for someone as good as Bellamy to want Murphy for his own? Jesus Christ, Murphy must have been a goddamn saint in a past life or something. He couldn’t even think of a response, couldn’t conjure up the words he needed to tell Bellamy just how good he was, how it should be Murphy begging for Bellamy’s forgiveness instead of the other way around.

Bellamy took the extended silence as rejection, and visibly deflated.

“I’m sorry, I’ll just- I’ll go. I understand.”

The quiet words tumbled from Bellamy’s lips and Murphy was frozen for a second before he jolted himself into movement. He had to do something before this situation got any worse- before he hurt Bellamy beyond repair. He reached up and grabbed Bellamy’s arm, pulling it out from underneath him so that the other man fell back onto the bed with a small huff. Murphy leaned over and captured Bellamy’s lips in a passionate kiss, trying to pour into it every single thing his words could never do justice- the way his heart flipped when Bellamy waked through the door or smiled at him or put some snobby-ass council member in his place, the way that Murphy had always loved him, through their friendship and their fighting and every second in between, to show him that Murphy would never stop loving Bellamy- not ‘til the day he died, and even then. The way that every cell in Murphy’s body knew that their fire would burn and burn and burn for the rest of time. They parted, and the smiles gracing both of their faces would have been enough to outshine a thousand suns.

“Bellamy Blake, you clueless son of a bitch. I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are very very appreciated, or you can find me on tumblr (john-murpy). thanks for reading!


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